


PHILTATOS

by howsthismylife



Category: Patrochilles - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, More Fluff, Wrestling, overprotective Achilles, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howsthismylife/pseuds/howsthismylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about Patroclus and Achilles that does not end tragically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PHILTATOS

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing Patrochilles.  
> Let it be known that TSOA destroyed me.
> 
> I don't know anything about wrestling. sorry for the inaccuracies. 
> 
> I do not own any of the characters.

P H I L T A T O S

He sees Achilles after the lunch break bell rings leaning on his locker surrounded by different types of students. And for a moment Patroclus stops on his tracks and watches. He watches him as Achilles talks to the crowd animatedly; he notices the gleam expressions of Achilles’ listeners like they actually are interested to whatever Achilles is saying. Although in this school you’ll only find a handful of people who wouldn’t be that much interested in listening to Achilles because the whole school is. And that includes Patroclus himself.

                Patroclus hears the chorus of laughter coming from the crowd. And he thinks that this is where Achilles really belongs: with the crowd. He’s destined for greatness; Achilles is the captain of the track team, simultaneously a valuable member of the wrestling club; the soccer and basketball club persistently, and still, convinces him to join their team, composed a number of songs – with his guitar, although Achilles really loves playing with a lyre, he’s a straight A student and Patroclus often wonders how he manages it, and he’s obviously good with crowds.

                But Patroclus never resents Achilles for once. Although being a shadow is hard enough when the brightest of lights is just beside him.

At times, at night when he’s lying on his bed, he ponders why Achilles even bothers with him. He’s nothing special; his biological father tried to kill him once, he was adopted then, by a great guy named Chiron, and although he’s a straight A student that’s really just it. He’s not good with any kind of sports – Achilles used to encourage him to try different sports but it wasn’t really his thing, and the only club he belongs to is the Biology club which sounds lame enough.

So, no, Patroclus doesn’t see any reason why Achilles would choose him; would choose to be his friend, would choose to stay with him, would choose to be with him. And it eats him at times, all these things on his head swirling like an impending storm, as to why Achilles would choose him to be his. But Patroclus accepted him, chose him too all because Achilles was the only one he sees.

And as their eyes meet from the hallway he sees Achilles smile at him and everything seem to brush away.

Patroclus may only be a shadow but he’s glad Achilles is his light.

“Hey,” says Achilles after he excuses himself to go to him. Achilles hugs him then, and Patroclus can feel the smile on his boyfriend’s lips on his neck.

 _Boyfriend._ He will never tire of thinking that he’s Achilles’ boyfriend, that they’re a couple.

“How was Geometry?” he asks, only because Patroclus is overwhelmed by everything – by him.

Achilles pulls away and huffs, “It sucks, as all math subjects do,” he holds Patroclus’ hands then and starts walking, “How was History?”

“Still interesting,” he says.

They eat their lunch then when they reached the cafeteria. At some point Briseis, their friend, joins them and complains about her English subjects. She was a transfer student and was having a hard time learning a new language – although that was 2 years ago but she still finds it hard.

“So,” Briseis starts and points to Achilles, “You have a match this coming Friday right?”

Oh right, the wrestling match against Troy Academy. A bunch of rich kids with their huge egos and perfect hairs. They’re their school’s rival. Although for Patroclus rivalry is a stupid concept but Troy Academy is and their athletes are not to belittle about despite how perfect their hairs are. Not to mention their school mascots are almost matching; with Trojan Academy being the Trojan Horses, and the Academy of Phthia, the Centaurs.

“I do,” Achilles answers. He has two pieces of figs on his tray and Patroclus knows that their cafeteria doesn’t serve figs so he figured Achilles brought it with him. “I’m not going.”

“What?” Briseis and Patroclus say in an almost comical unison.

“I’m not going,” Achilles shrugs and began eating his first fig.

“Why?” Patroclus asks.

“Agamemnon is being an ass so I told him I won’t participate on the next meet.”

“Agamemnon has always been an ass,” Briseis says. And Patroclus agrees. Agamemnon is one of the largest seniors in their campus; only second to Ajax who really does not look like a high school-er anymore because of his height and built. “And that didn’t stop you from being an ass back.”

Patroclus looks over at Briseis with his eyebrows raised only because she’s talking about Achilles – _my_ Achilles. She shrugs and says, “What? He can be an ass sometimes, too.”

“You should go,” he tells Achilles but he’s not looking up. Achilles is sucking on those figs now and he watches his lips.

“I’m not going,” he says.

“But why?” Patroclus says.

“Just …” Achilles starts and Patroclus looks at him expectantly. “Nothing. I’m not going.”

“But you love wrestling,” Patroclus says. And it’s true. One thing Achilles loves more than running is throwing people on the ground, grappling them until they tap out. There was always a certain gleam on Achilles’ eyes when he’s about to wrestle.

Patroclus was expecting a reply but Achilles said nothing.

“Achilles?” he says.

And after a while he hears Achilles mumble something and Patroclus asks him what it is, then Achilles sighs and huffs and says, in a low voice, hunching over his precious figs, “He said something bad about you.”

And that makes Briseis laughing beside Patroclus and he rolls his eyes at her but he can’t help but feel a little tug on his own lips. _Sometimes, you can get really protective of me,_ he thinks. And Patroclus does not resent him for that.

The bell rings before anyone can say anything more and the three of them dump their trashes and walk to their respective classes.

That afternoon as Patroclus was unlocking his bike he sees Achilles beside him. Kissing Achilles’ cheeks, Patroclus said, “You know I don’t mind when people say mean things to me.”

“But I do,” Achilles said. “And you know how I can over – ”

“—react sometimes,” Patroclus finished, “Yeah, I know. But this is wrestling! You love wrestling.”

“Not as much as I love you,” Achilles said. And that had made Patroclus’ cheeks blush. Sometimes it’s hard to believe everything coming out of Achilles’ mouth because Patroclus thought he did not deserve them.

“You’re sappy,”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Never,”

“Good,” Achilles said, smiling. And he’s smiling too because Patroclus would never get tired of this: of Achilles saying sappy things to him that made him blush, them standing face to face and just be able to watch Achilles’ face, trace Achilles’ features with his eyes. And maybe, maybe, Achilles didn’t see Patroclus as the shadow that he was.

 

The next morning as Patroclus was getting some books from he’s locker he noticed a shadow loom over him and so he turned to his back. Agamemnon was standing in front of him and beside him were Menelaus, his brother, and their witty friend, Odysseus. The first thing Patroclus did was to search for Achilles but he knew Achilles wasn’t there yet because he had just texted Patroclus that he had overslept.

                “Relax,” Odysseus said, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

                “… yet,” Agamemnon added with a scowl on his face. He saw Menelaus roll his eyes so he turned his attention to the guy in front of him.

                “What do you want?” he asked.

                “Ask your little boyfriend to go come this meet or –”

                “Or what?” he shocked himself for saying.

                Agamemnon then gritted his teeth. This guy didn’t like other people talking when he was talking. “I’m going to tell his mother that he’s not coming because of you.”

                Patroclus swallowed. Thetis already hated him. If she knew that her son was not participating this coming Friday because of him then she’s going to be furious just like the overprotective mother that she was. Just thinking of Thetis’ eyes made him shiver. Patroclus did not want to experience the real deal … again. And he knew that Achilles loved his mother dearly despite her profound hate towards humanity with the exception of her son. And he did not want to upset Achilles by upsetting his mother.

                “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. He asked Achilles what Agamemnon said about him last night over the phone but Achilles wouldn’t tell him. They have this rule about not keeping secrets from one another but the look on Achilles’ face made Patroclus drop the subject.

                “You’ll convince him or Thetis will hear about this,” he stared at the cold eyes of Agamemnon and swallowed. All he could do was nod before the bell rang and Patroclus could breathe a little easier. _How the hell am I going to convince Achilles?_ Achilles can be the most stubborn when it came to his pride and him.

                It’s lunch time when he sees Achilles. He jogs towards him and Achilles smiles openly at him. He wants to see this everyday: Achilles’ smile. It’s like every worry and negative thoughts that nags Patroclus for hours just washes off of him. And it makes Patroclus smile back and sometimes he wonders if his smile makes Achilles’ chest feel warm like his smile do.

                This particular lunch Achilles leads Patroclus on the benches. Briseis is with her girl friends and when she sees them walking hand in hand she rolls her eyes at them and tells them that they’re disgusting as a married couple. And Patroclus laughs heartily at that because in the back of his mind he’s excited about the future; his future with Achilles.

                Sitting on the benches, Achilles hands him a sandwich and Patroclus takes it. They eat in silence for a while, watching other students consume their lunch time. And Patroclus remembers this morning’s incident so he looks over at Achilles but Achilles is already looking at him.

                It makes him blush and avert his eyes because after all these years that they have known each other, after all these years that they have been together, to be subjected by those deep green eyes of his is to be lost in his world. And Patroclus does not need to be lost in him this time because he has pressing matters to voice out and with Achilles sitting beside him, feeling the heat radiating off of him, with those intense eyes locked on him is not making it any easier.

                “Stop it,” Patroclus says, weakly.

                “Kiss me,” he says. And Achilles’ voice sends shivers to Patroclus, even to his soul, and all he can do is oblige.

                So he leans in, as Achilles slowly leans in as well, and their lips touch which takes Patroclus back to their first kiss and smiles for feeling the same nervousness, the same excitement, the same fluttering of his pulse, as it is now; if not, even more.

                And when Achilles’ tongue brushes for permission he lets him and deepens the kiss. He can taste their lunch; the mayonnaise, the tomatoes, the lettuce, the tuna; but deep within those Patroclus can taste Achilles: the sweetness of his lips, the warm tinge of figs that he loves to eat, and that slick taste that reminds him of the beach and the warm ocean.

                As wonderful as that moment can be there is an urgent need for Patroclus to tell Achilles what happened this morning. And so, reluctantly, slowly, he pulls away and tells him exactly that.

                Achilles listens, as he always do, but there’s a frown on his face and his lips are pressed into a thin line. When Patroclus finishes, Achilles says, “I’m still not going.”

                “But why?” he asks. Most people would get frustrated dealing with stubborn people like Achilles but Patroclus is not most people and he can never get frustrated with Achilles even if he wants to. “Just tell me why, please.”

                “I can’t.” Achilles says. Patroclus notices the tightening of his jaws and Patroclus wants to touch, to ease whatever it is that Achilles is going through.

                “Please, Achilles,” he knows Achilles becomes weak when he says his name just like when Achilles whispers his. “Just tell me.”

                For a while Achilles did not answer. And for a while Patroclus worries. But he hears Achilles shift on his seat and sigh, and so Patroclus turns to him, looking at him expectantly.

                “Agamemnon said you were a murderer.” Achilles says, his head bowed down, which makes Patroclus freeze on his seat.

                The reason his father tried to kill him in the first place was because, at the age of six, Patroclus had accidentally killed his cousin. His cousin was taunting him and began tugging at the teddy bear that his late mother had given him. And Patroclus’ hands were already sweaty from pulling and suddenly it slipped which made his cousin fell hard on the tiled ground. And the next thing six-year-old Patrcolus saw was the growing pool of blood around his cousin’s head. He had been scared. And he had panicked. And his father saw it which made him go into a rage. Patroclus could still remember how his father’s eyes had looked; red with anger. But also, he could see the usual hint of disappointment and embarrassment on it. He will never forget the way his father had dragged him by his hair, throw him against their fridge as his father broke glass after glass on the ground. Patroclus was crying then, hurt all over his body, sorry for his existence. And when his father took hold of a knife he had thought that his father had forgotten about him, or maybe his father did long time ago and this was just an excuse to erase him from this world. It was his fault that his father’s favorite nephew was dead; the one he had wanted Patroclus to be: bright, strong, masculine. Not like him, snotty, always crying, silent. “That’s how a son should be,” his father always said. And up to this time it still rang true.

                “Patroclus?” he hears Achilles call. He feels Achilles’ thumbs brush against his cheeks. He’s crying. And there’s a cold look on Achilles’ eyes.

                “Don’t,” he says, softly.

                “Give me one good reason not to.” Achilles says in a cold voice, “The only reason why I haven’t kicked his ass yet was because coach was there when he said it.”

                “Just don’t,” Patroclus says. He looks over at Achilles and Achilles’ eyes soften.

                “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

                “I’m fine.”

                “You’re not.” Achilles says. “I really am not going to that meet.”

                That night, Achilles decided to spend the evening with him. Chiron seemed to know what happened and let Achilles spend the night. Tomorrow was the wrestling match and the only thing beside Achilles’ warmth that was on his mind was his incarcerated father. He had spent six years with him and since the beginning, even as a child, he knew that his father didn’t like him. And when his mother died from an illness his father had gone even more cold and distant. “That’s how a son should be,” were the words that haunted him for nights until it slowly faded out after being adopted by Chiron and meeting Achilles.

                He had told Achilles about his father one summer night as they were lying side by side. Patroclus just said it softly, told the story softly, the moment when he knew Achilles was slowly falling asleep. And for a second he hoped that Achilles didn’t hear it but Achilles did and there was silence after that. He had closed his eyes then, willing himself to fall asleep, when he felt Achilles’ arms wrap around his middle. And at that time that was all he needed. To know that it was okay; that it was going to be okay. For the both of them.

                “That’s how a son should be,” he had whispered before sleep finally cradled him. That was the last thought he had that night and it was his thought now.

                His father had been cruel. The monster in his nightmares. But Partoclus got over him, escaped his shadow. And although he was his biological father Patroclus would deny him forever. He would strip himself everything that reminded him of his father. And that gave him an idea. An idea that Achilles would later refuse. And they would argue all night but in the end Achilles would give up because he couldn’t really win an argument with Patroclus.

                “I will fight in your place,” Patroclus would say before they go to bed.

                “I wish you the best of luck,” Achilles would say resignedly.

 

The students are already gathering at the gym and Briseis has this dubious look on her eyes as she says, “That’s insane!” and it is. “That’s real insane, Patroclus!” He told her about his plan earlier before the match even began. “Do you even know how to wrestle?”

                A reason why Patroclus is not a member of the Wrestling club is because he’s not sporty and because he doesn’t like … sports. Although Patroclus had wrestled before, in middle-school. Chiron taught him the basics, trained with him even after the year has ended. But in the end Patroclus concluded that he did not like wrestling. He could bear Chiron training him because he was his adoptive father but the idea of other people touching him is something he wanted to avoid. The only exception was Achilles because Achilles will always be the exception. But he has to do this. Now. He has to do this for Achilles, for the haunting memory of his father, and for him.

                “I’m okay with wrestling,” he says. “I’m not as good as Achilles obviously but I think I can take Automedon down.”

                He hears Briseis chuckle but only for a second. “Even I could take Automedon down.” Automedon is one of Achilles’ wrestling teammates. A sophomore who hasn’t grown out of his body yet. He’s a little on the thin side, short, and one look at him and you won’t think he can wrestle. But he can. The kid is fast, agile, and his limbs locks firmly. He has a few wins and a couple of losses but that’s how sport goes. Achilles is nowhere to be found.

                He had told Achilles to stay away from the gym. Achilles was reluctant at first but Patroclus managed to convince him. “If you’re there then Agamemnon would have my head right then and there.”

                Achilles had looked at him pouting like a petulant child he really was and Patroclus kissed him. “Do you trust me?” Achilles nodded silently. “I have to do this.”

                “Be careful,”

                “I will.”

                The feedback from the microphone catches everyone’s attention. The students from Trojan Academy on the other side wearing their school shirt: maroon with an embossed silhouette of a horse with a feathered helmet. And on the opposite are from the Academy of Phtia.

                The introduction starts and ends and the matches begins. The first match starts with Ajax and from the Trojan Horses, Priam. Ajax towers Priam but Priam doesn’t seem to be fazed. What Priam lacks of built he makes up with speed. Priam is fast, moving quickly, sliding underneath Ajax’s thighs and grappling him from behind. But Ajax is strong and everyone in the school knows it. This match’s winner is already settled the moment the player’s names were called. In the end Ajax did win and the rest of the Phtians cheers. Patroclus goes down the bleachers.

                The next match is between Menelaus and some guy Patroclus does not know. Agamemnon spots him just as he is walking towards their corner.

                “I see no Achilles here,” Agamemnon says, his eyes trained on the players.

                “Achilles is not playing,” he says, and Agamemnon looks at him with those cold eyes. From the benches he saw Odysseus stand up, seemingly watching them. “I’m playing in his place.”

                The laugh that comes out of Agamemnon’s mouth almost echoes through the whole gym. And it sent shivers in Patroclus’ spine. _I need to do this._

                “You?” Agamemnon accuses. “How are you going to wrestle? With those clothes?”

                “I have Achilles’,”

                “And what makes you think I’ll let you out there?”

                “Because you need a sub.”

                “I have Automedon to sub for Achilles,”

                “Where’s your Automedon then?” Patroclus raises an eyebrow and Agamemnon looks to the benches. Automedon isn’t in his usual seat and is nowhere near their corner either. Automedon isn’t even in the gym.

                Agamemnon clenches his jaw. “Where the hell is Automedon?” he asks Odysseus.

                “Accident,” Odysseus says coolly before winking over at Patroclus when Agamemnon turns to the coach.

                Patroclus had asked Automedon a favor. A huge favor. And Automedon was brave enough to face the wrath of Agamemnon in the future. Although Achilles’ had promised to protect him and when Odysseus had stuck his nose where it didn’t belong again, offered to cover for him.

                The coach waves at him to come over. Agamemnon looks pissed and frustrated. Patroclus says, “You don’t have any more players. I can sub for Achilles. I’ve watched him wrestle more than enough and Chiron had taught me when I was in middle-school. I may not look like it but I’m your only choice as of the moment.”

                After a moment, after Menelaus’ win and Odysseus’ name is called, the coach nods and Patroclus only needs to worry about the actual wrestling part. Agamemnon beside him is already fuming so he takes his duffle bag and goes to the locker rooms to change.

                Achilles had lent him his wrestling gear earlier this morning. And as Patroclus is slipping his feet, calves, thighs, his whole body in Achilles’ uniform he can’t help but blush and get aroused a little bit. The thought of Achilles having to wear this every practice, every match, sends warmness all over Patroclus’ body. And now he’s wearing it. He has to breathe himself even and calm his threatening arousal. And he is. Second after second he feels himself getting more comfortable with Achilles’ suit on his skin when Achilles himself sneaks inside the locker room wearing a hoodie and a cap.

                For a moment they stare at each other. And for a moment Patroclus worries Agamemnon will catch them. But Achilles is biting his lips and there’s an obvious tint of pink on his cheeks that has Patroclus thinking that he’s not the only one feeling things.

                “Achilles,” his voice must have broken the spell because Achilles is blinking and breathing deeply.

                “Patroclus,” the way Achilles whispers his name makes him dizzy from all the butterflies forming in his stomach. And in just three strides Achilles holds Patroclus’ hands. “Be careful out there,” he says.

                “I will.”

                “You look so good,” Achilles says before kissing Patroclus on the lips.

                “Can’t,” Patroclus pulls back just as the kiss was about to get deeper, “What are you doing here anyway?”

                “Did you seriously think I’d let you out there without me seeing you first?”

                “Nope.” he says and they both chuckle.

                It takes Patroclus all he’s got to make Achilles stay away until the matches are done. After he finishes dressing up he goes to their corner and stand beside Odysseus who is holding a bag of ice over his head. Odysseus smirks at him and they both watch Agamemnon’s match.

                The butterflies caused by Achilles earlier are now being replaced by a harsher one. This one makes him nauseas and dizzy and he can feel something bad is about to happen. But he swallows it all down, brushes it all off because he has to do this. Even if he loses.

                Predictably, Agamemnon wins and he glares at Patroclus as he strides back to the benches. Agamemnon grabs a bottle of water as the students and their teammates congratulate him. And though his eyes never leave Patroclus’ he does not avert his eyes.

                “Don’t pee yourself there, Patroclus,” Agamemnon says, smirking,

                Patroclus then looks Agamemnon on his eyes. He has never felt braver. “I’m a murderer remember?” he says before walking over to the mat after his name is called. Though his newfound bravery only lasts a second the moment they announce his opponent. Hector.

 _Hector._ Troy’s best.

There are cheers from the Trojan’s side and Patroclus feels even more nervous. He scans the crowd and sees Briseis but even Briseis can’t comfort him now. Achilles is not inside just as he promised.

The match starts after the referee blows his whistle. The both of them stand on a stance, waiting, gauging each other; but Patroclus knows he can’t win in a match with Hector. That’s just wishful thinking, so gives it his best. Despite his lack of interest in sports Patroclus is fast, not as fast as Achilles but he’s fast enough. “That’s how a son should be,” he hears it deep inside his mind. His father, still haunting him. Hector grabs him from behind and Patroclus tries his hardest to get free. “That’s how a son should be,” he remembers hearing the crack of his cousin’s head the moment it hit the ground. Patroclus manages to escape Hectors clutches and breathes. Hector’s smiling. And he’s smiling. Adrenaline rushes in his whole body and Patroclus now knows why Achilles loves to wrestle. “That’s how a son should be,” the memory of his father holding a knife seem so distant now. Patroclus laughs. Hector tackles him to the ground and he tries to go above Hector but it seems impossible.

“That’s how a son should be,” Patroclus said one night. Achilles turns to him. “That’s what my dad used to say. He’d nod to my cousin and say it to me.”

“This is who you are,” Achilles said, holding Patroclus’ hand, Achilles’ eyes never leaving his. “And I love you.”

 _If Achilles says so. Then that means it’s true._ Patroclus smiled and kissed him.

Patroclus lost. It’s a no-brainer but he’s satisfied. In losing he won something: recognition. This is who he is: someone who helps the person closest to him, someone who is capable of loving and being loved, someone who has friends, someone who hates sports and is a member of the Biology Club, someone who comes up with insane ideas and breaks their arm and crack their ribs because of it. _This is who I am._

 

Achilles did not want him to ride his bicycle after what happened. Patroclus had broken his left arm and cracked two ribs from his match with Hector. Nobody had laughed at him which was weird. Instead the next day he went to school wearing a cast and people saw him coming they greeted him. And people had always greeted Patroclus, but not nearly by everyone; a simple nod, a ‘hi,’ a ‘hello,’ ‘good morning,’ and a couple of students told him that his match with Hector was a good one. Recognition by others wasn’t something Patroclus was expecting from subbing in Achilles’ place. He had only wanted to know himself. But now everybody knew him.

                At one point, he had Chemistry with Achilles, and Achilles got bored so he gently shifted Patroclus’ casted left arm to his side. Patroclus just raised an eyebrow at him and Achilles smiled. He focused on the lecture, as any student tried to anyway, but he could also feel Achilles’ presence strongly beside him. And he could see, from his peripheral view, Achilles writing something on his cast with a sharpie. Whatever it was can wait because Patroclus is taking notes for the both of them at the same time.

                When classes had ended and Patroclus was gathering his things he looked at his cast and stopped. He could feel Achilles’ gaze on him, those green eyes watching him intensely.

                “Philtatos?” said Patroclus.

                “Most beloved,” said Achilles.

                Patroclus then forgot about his things, forgot about his classmates around him cleaning up to go to their next class, he forgot he was even in school. All he knew and could see was Achilles and Achilles alone. _Most beloved._ That was Patroclus to Achilles; not a shadow, not just a boyfriend, but his most beloved. The most important person to Achilles. Half of his soul.

                He was to lean in and kiss Achilles when someone shouted, “Get a room,” and Patroclus noticed the students who were taking their next class on this classroom started entering. They both chuckle and Achilles helped him with his bag and they both went out of the room.

                Achilles hovered over him until the cast was taken off. He did not get rid of the cast though. Patroclus asked the doctor if they could saw without ruining the word Achilles wrote. And they did. The cast smells but its sitting on Patroclus’ chair in his room. Philtatos. _Most Beloved._

                Patroclus was glad for the release of his arm if it only meant that Achilles would stop hovering over him. Not that he did not like having Achilles with him all the time. It’s just that ever since Patroclus broke his arm Achilles was always there to assist him with everything; holding the door open for him, carrying his things, getting his food, driving him to school and home. He was very grateful, yes. But it was getting kind of annoying. Patroclus had a broken arm, he’s not a total invalid.

                And when he told Achilles this, Achilles had bit his lip and pouted. He always does that whenever he wants Patroclus to do something. And Patroclus tried, really tried not to cave in but he did in the end. He let Achilles do whatever he wanted and Patroclus chuckled at his boyfriend. After all, Patroclus could not really say no to Achilles.

 

When Patroclus goes to school one morning he noticed the booth the student government set up. _Prom._ Prom is still four weeks away but students are pretty excited about it. They already started selling tickets. He sees Menelaus buying tickets – probably for Helen, wonders if he, too, should buy tickets or has Achilles already bought one. And if Achilles had already bought one is he going to ask Patroclus or is he going to ask anyone else? It’s stupid he knows. But Patroclus has always has this insecurities with him.

                He finds his answer at lunch when Patroclus finds Achilles leaning against his locker. Achilles is smiling and Patroclus is smiling and he has a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen. He’s not expecting anything grand, he does not like elaborate things to begin with, all he wants if for Achilles to ask and he’ll answer.

                “Hey,”

                “Hey,”

                “Prom?”

                Patroclus smiles and hugs Achilles and whispers, “Prom,” and it’s perfect.

A week until Prom and Achilles surprises Patroclus with tuxes. Patroclus was planning to use some of his college fund for renting a tux but Achilles had already beaten him to that. He smiles. The suit Achilles is holding on his right is white with dark purple dress shirt and vest and bowtie, which he guesses are Achilles’ because they would look really good on him, and the one on his left is a deep purple one with white dress shirt and vest and bowtie. And they both look really expensive.

                Standing up from his bed, Patroclus asks, “Who picked those?”

                “Me,” Achilles says proudly.

                “They look really good,”

                “Just good?”

                “Really good,” he smiles and they both chuckle. They’re going to prom. Together.

                At school, Patroclus was surprised Briseis was going to Prom with Automedon. She shrugged and told Patroclus that “He asked me,” like it was not a big deal but Patroclus could see excitement on her eyes.

 

“Maybe I’ll rent a carriage,” Achilles says. They’re at Achilles’ room and tomorrow is Prom night.

                Patroclus laughs beside him and says, “No! No carriage.”

                Achilles laughs as well, “Carriage it is then!”

                “No!” Patroclus chuckles, “Where are you even gonna find one?”

                “Craigslist,” Achilles says, “Maybe.”

                “Maybe,” he says. And after a while he says, “But seriously, no carriage.”

                “No carriage,” Achilles says, “Just you and me.”

                “Just you and me.”

 

The day of the prom was anything but boring. Usually students walk in the school hallways looking like zombies but today were different. Everybody was buzzing with excitement. And so as Patroclus; who kept on smiling all day and feeling light.

                He and Achilles had been, according to Briseis, sickening to the point that she refused to join them on lunch because they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. Patroclus laughed at her rambling but was grateful for her friend. He knew she was giving them space. Today was in fact, for high-schoolers, a special day. Achilles just stuck out a tongue at her.

                Patroclus is in his house, nervous as hell but also excited. School has just ended and it pains him to be away with Achilles even if they’re going to see each other in a little while. Chiron smiled at him earlier when he reached home; told him to have a good night. He does not know if Achilles had planned anything for the night. No matter what, Patroclus thinks, he’ll love it. Because he gets to spend one of teenager’s special occasions with the one he loves.

                He decides to shower, just so he can do something else besides sitting on his bed thinking of what if’s and how’s. And after Patroclus showers he tries to read a book but find it impossible. Concentrating has never been this hard. Every cell in his body seems to anticipate this night.

                After a while, he looks at the clock, Patroclus decides to wear his suit. It’s dark purple, and he finds out that he likes it. Achilles chose it for him which means that it’ll look good on him. He wears his dress pants which, surprisingly, fits him really well; he puts on his dark brown shoes – he wanted to buy dark purple one’s but he finds that it’s hard to look for dark purple leather; next is the white dress shirt, cuffing the sleeves he puts on his bowtie. He thanked Chiron mentally for teaching him to tie a bowtie. He looks himself in front of the mirror, pushes his hair back – although to no avail because of his curls, and for once he appreciates how he looks. _This is how Achilles sees me,_ he thinks and smiles. _This is how Achilles will see me._ Patroclus puts on his coat and checks the time.

                Achilles told him he’d pick him up around seven. It’s already 6:50 and he gets even more nervous. He’ll die laughing if Achilles does pick him up with a carriage. But he won’t. Patroclus knows he won’t because he said so.

                It’s past seven and Achilles is still not here. He had been checking on his window for 20 minutes now and still no sign of those divine gold curls.

                He tried reaching Achilles but it always goes into voicemail. It’s 7:30.

                He starts worrying when the clock hits 8 and there still is no Achilles. Chiron tells him to calm down and gives him a cup of tea.

                When Patroclus decides to go to Mr. Pelides’ house he sees Achilles on his bicycle paddling hard before stopping in front of his house. He stares at Achilles and their eyes meet. He’s wearing his suit; white all over with deep purple accents. Achilles has this sorry smile on his face and Patroclus walks towards him.

                “I’m sorry I’m late,” Achilles says, “My mom –”

                Achilles can’t say any more because Patroclus is kissing him, his hands cupping Achilles’ cheeks. When Patroclus pulls back they’re both breathless.

                “Why are you on a bike?” he asks and Achilles smiles.

                “This is how we met,” says Achilles, “Remember?”

                “Ah,” Patroclus nods slowly, “You crashing into me. How can I forget?”

                They were 12. Patroclus was walking on his way home when someone crashed into him. He was walking on the _sidewalk_ where humans were supposed to walk and not for bikes. He was going to scold the kid or the guy who bumped into him but his words died in his mouth the moment he saw him; golden curls, deep green eyes staring at him in sorry. He had a bruise on his elbow and Patroclus, instead of scolding the guy, offered to help him treat the wounds in his house. “Chiron taught me how to clean wounds,” he had said.

                “You treated my wounds then,” Achilles says.  After a while he adds, “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

                “It’s okay,” he says, “You’re worth the wait.” _You’re worth everything._

“Am I now?” Achilles smiles. He holds Patroclus’ hands and they stay like that for a moment. It’s a little bit chilly but it’s alright. Achilles’ hands are warm. That’s all Patroclus needs.

                “Are we supposed to ride your bike?”

                “You get yours of course,” Achilles says and they laugh. Of course Patroclus needed to gets his.

                Riding his bike, Patroclus looks to Achilles and smiles. The day after they met, Achilles went to his house and asked if Patroclus would ride a bike with him. He had asked Chiron for permission and Chiron agreed. If this was his father he probably won’t let him. Then the both of them rode their bikes to the park, on the streets – Achilles showing Patroclus where he lived. It was a fun day. And since then they would ride their bikes together when they get the chance.

                “Ready?” he asks.

                “Always.”

 

They arrive at the school gym laughing and chasing each other. This particular bike ride had been the most fun. Patroclus can hear the thumping music coming from the building, the rays of different colored lights escaping the windows. Patroclus holds Achilles’ hands. But before they enter the gym Achilles takes the corsage on his bike’s basket and pins it on Patroclus’ coat, and Achilles does the same to him.

                When they finally enter the building, a sea of heads turns to look at them. Whispers began circling the crowd and people smiles, cheers, greets Achilles. Patroclus steps aside for a while to let people, his teammates, other friends, peers, talk to him. But after a while Achilles slips his hands on his again and kisses him on the cheek.

                After they had taken their pictures they look for Briseis and sits with them at their table. She’s wearing a beautiful green dress that compliments her dark skin even more, and it reminds Patroclus of the forest. She’s smiling at Automedon, her date, and when their eyes meet across the table they smile at each other.

                Food sucks, someone spikes the punch, and everyone is enjoying themselves. Achilles had asked Patroclus to dance and Patroclus glares at him halfheartedly because Achilles knows he can’t dance. Achilles laughs about it but when Patroclus rolls his eyes at him he’s getting a handful of blond curls on his cheek. Achilles then rests his forehead against Patroclus and says, “Dance with me,” and the moment he says it the music changed to a slow moving one. With those bright green eyes staring at him, at his soul, how can he say no?

                So they stand, with Achilles leading him through the crowd, and finds their spot, almost at the center where people gave way for them. Patroclus does not know the song – he does not to, Achilles and Achilles alone is enough.

                Achilles guides him, puts his arms around Achilles’ neck as Achilles’ wraps his arms around his waist. And they start moving; swaying slowly. The music is loud, the lights are too bright for his liking but he tunes everything out, tunes the irrelevant things. He focuses on the guy, the man, in front of him, holding him like he’ll break if he lets go. Patroclus traces Achilles’ features with his eyes; from his golden curls, to the curve of his nose, his pink lips, to the shape of his jaw line. He lands on Achilles’ eyes and can’t, doesn’t, unable, to look away. It’s greener than he remembers, much full of emotions. He wonders if his eyes give the same expression. Patroclus’ are brown; the color of the earth, while his, the color of emeralds.

                As if Achilles has an idea of what he’s thinking, he leans in and says, “Have I ever told you that I like your eyes?”

                “You may have mentioned it once,” he replies.

                “Or how I love it when you wrap your arms around me,” Achilles continues. “Or how I get jealous easily when you talk to other guys.”

                “I don’t remember,” he says, softly.

                “I’ll make you remember,” says Achilles and he kisses Patroclus’ cheeks then on his lips.

                They stay like that for a while until the song lasts, or until the last slow song lasts. Achilles never let go of Patroclus. Not even once. Sometime in the night they announced the Prom King and Queen. And of course Achilles was the King and a girl named Deidameia, the queen. The crowd congratulated them and started chanting about dancing. And there was this pinched expression on Achilles’ face when he looked over at Patroclus. And he chuckled and mouthed that it was okay. Achilles withdrew from Deidameia almost a minute after the song started and found his way over to Patroclus.

                “Hey,” Achilles said.

                Patroclus mock-bowed in front and smirked, “My King.”

                “Kiss me,” said Achilles, and Patroclus did.

                Achilles then took off his crown and placed it on Patroclus’ head. “You’re my King,” Achilles said, and Patroclus blushed when Achilles traced his cheek with his thumb.

                _Philtatos._

_Most Beloved._

                Maybe Achilles saw Patroclus as a bright light as well.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in months now.  
> Sorry for the errors, this is not beta read.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated.


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